


Irresponsible

by Uniasus



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a new CMO, Ratchet is bound to make a mistake here or there. But of not of this caliber, not resulting in this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irresponsible

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by the opening of Thunder Crashes by Wyntir Rose, who also beta'ed this when I first posted it on ff.net in 2010. I'd link, but it's no longer up.

“Ratchet.”

 Said mech froze, and turned to look into the office of whose open door he passed.  Prowl was giving an icy glare to the box in his servos. 

“What is in the box?”

Ratchet looked down at what he was carrying, returned his gaze to the SIC, and simply said “Nothing”.  Prowl was not pleased, if the tightening spiral of his optics was anything to go by.  

“Then you do not have any objections to me looking at it, do? ”

Ratchet clutched the box closer to him, but gave in.  While he had been promoted to CMO early this vorn, it was not a rank that allowed him to overrule Optimus Prime’s right servo-mech. With a snarl, Ratchet banged the crate on the tactician’s desk.  

Prowl stood up to open it and the air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees as the grey mech closed the door remotely.

“These are medical supplies,” the SIC said in a flat tone, lifting his doorwings until they stood stiffly erect as he turned his attention to the officer across from him.

“Well, you wouldn’t sign the Primus slagged orders to get me some so I had to do it myself!”

“I specifically told you not to.”

Ratchet threw his hands up.  “Do you know how many lives were at risk by me not having my supplies?  If the Decepticons had attacked, many mechs would have died!”

Prowl crossed his arms.  “You had enough supplies to take care of any possibility except an all out assault.   There is a less than two percent chance of that occurring.”

“Don’t you spit out numbers at me you walking data pad!” the medic shook a finger at the tactician across the desk, “Mechs aren’t numbers.”

“I agree.  However, there was no reason for you to endanger yourself.” Prowl’s doorwings lowered to a more natural position. “If you had been injured, off-lined, think of all the mechs who would have died because you were unavailable to treat their injuries.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” Ratchet snarled back, slamming a servo on the desk, “I can calculate risks too you know.”

Prowl raised an optic ridge and Ratchet’s look darkened. “Doesn’t matter anyway, I got my supplies and everyone’s still in one piece.”

“That still does not change the fact that you disobeyed orders.  Rules exist for a reason, and as an officer now, you have to set an example.”

“You can take your rules and shove them up your exhaust pipe!”  The CMO threw a servo in the air with a growl.  He grabbed the crate of medical supplies and turned to walk out the door, but Prowl locked it. Frustrated Ratchet resorted to leaning against the door, holding the crate to his chassis, and glowering at the tactician on the other side of the room. 

“This war does not revolve around you and your med bay Ratchet,” Prowl bristled, his EM field rising half a frequency.  “I have to take into account all of the requests and everyone’s requisitions to figure out what is best for all of us – ”

“Oh frag you!  Your rules could have cost mechs their lives.  I’m not going to sit around on my aft until your glitchy battle computer says I can have my supplies!  If you’re not going to sign the orders to get me what I want, I’m slagging well going to get them myself!”  

Ratchet’s voice echoed harshly throughout the metal office and as it faded he got a strange feeling the tactician was…disappointed. Prowl opened his mouth to respond, but the dimming of his optics indicated that he was listening to an internal comm message.  Ratchet seethed, fingers tapping on the crate of supplies as he waited for Prowl to finish talking with whoever was on the other line.  Most likely Prime. 

Before he knew it, the CMO found himself on his aft and spare parts scattered over his legs when the door behind him opened and upset his balance. Still befuddled, he gave a yelp as Prowl was suddenly standing over him. He had no idea the grey mech could move that fast (though he did often catch Sideswipe and Sunstreaker)!  With a ped on either side of his waist, fully flared doorwings, and a face cast in shadows from the lights over head, the SIC made a very imposing figure. Ratchet clamped his armor tight to his body, impulsively protecting internal wiring, because he was sure Prowl knew more about Cybertionian anatomy than an average mech.  Primus, he was so glad no one else was in the hallway right now.

“We will continue this later Ratchet,” Prowl said, optics flat and icy.  It was very, _very_ obvious now why many were scared to cross the tactician’s path.  

A couple of bated astoseconds went by and then the SIC took off down the hallway, leaving the CMO softly grumbling to himself about officers with fritzy processors and holier-than-thou tacticians gifted with over hyped battle computers as he picked up the spilled medical supplies.

  ~*~

Blaster’s message that the trade with the Masos, the natives of this planet, was going sour had Prowl out the door, transformed, and on his way within a couple of breems. He was only a quarter joor away from the settlement when he was in range to get a more detailed description of the issue from Hauler.

::I thought the ore was all measured out previously and placed in the crate.  It seemed the right weight when Trailbreaker loaded me, but once we got here and weighed it a third of the amount of maniche ore we promised them was missing::

::I take it they did not react kindly to the discovery::

::No, they demanded to see you, since you set up this swap.  They’re really angry sir, and it looks like they’re bringing out catapults::  

::You’re not to engage them, just take cover and try not to escalate the situation.  I will be there shortly::

::Will do. See you soon, sir::

When Prowl did arrive it was to see Trailbreaker and Hauler in their alt modes, doing their best to hide from the rock missiles being launched at them by staying behind the crate used to transport the maniche ore.  The Masos’ technology was quite primitive, to the point where the Decpticons did not even bother with them, but very easy to aggravate and prone to violence.  It had taken Optimus awhile to convince them that the Autobots were friendly and meant no harm, an idea the Masos finally understood after the Cybertronians had taken to hiding when the three-legged, dusty red aliens approached.  Apparently invisibility equaled a display of friendship, hence Trailbreaker and Hauler’s position.  

Though by the current situation, it was not working. While the Masos couldn’t do much more then dent Cybertronian armor, it appeared that enough blows to the same area could pose a problem.   Hauler’s crane was too tall to get full protection from the crate and as a result had a dent deep enough that Prowl was pretty sure was effecting either coolant or energon lines. He couldn’t see Trailbreaker, as the black mech was on the other side of Hauler, but he was most likely unharmed. The crate itself was open on one end and dented on the side closest to the organics in a testament to the lack of targeting precision the Masos’ catapults had.

Once in sight of the organics, Prowl thrummed his engine to get their attention and then put on a show of hastily finding a place to hide by speeding off in a wide arc that ended with him between Trailbreaker and Hauler on the far side of the crate.

::Report::

::Nothing’s changed sir:: Trailbreaker comm’d back.

::Damage report?::

::We’re fine::

Prowl sent a request for conformation to Hauler, who responded with the information that his field abilities weren’t hampered.

After quickly analyzing the situation the SIC determined that the best course of action was to sit tight and wait for the Masos to realize that none of them were there to cause trouble.  It took a full five breems for the rocks to stop launching, and Prowl waited another breem to be sure before speaking out in the Masos’ native tongue – a strange combination of wispy sounds and throaty croaks.

“I am friend Prowl, here to speak with greatest friend Titik.”

“Welcome, friend Prowl.  We have to talk.”

Slowly, making himself as small as possible to show his friendly intent, Prowl rolled out from around the crate.  Hauler and Trailbreaker followed, also still in alt model, and settled with their rear bumpers against the metal container. 

Titik, the Masos’ leader, was sitting on the ground halfway between the crate and the rest of his people.  His knees were flat on the sandy earth with his lower legs bent backwards and almost touching the next knee so that his three legs encompassed him in an open triangle.  Prowl sunk as low as he could on his treads before rolling to a stop in front of him.

“You promised 15 units more for the information on the other metal aliens.” Titik picked up the spear lying next to him and swung it so the flat side of the blade hit Prowl’s quarter panel.  Prowl allowed the action: Masos were violent by nature, reacting would have increased his size in some matter (which would have been interrupted as no longer having friendly intentions, especially since Titik’s posture didn’t change during the action), it was only a mild irritant, and Titik was very aware of the fact that Prowl could end his life easily.

“Yes I did and I apologize greatest friend. There was a communication mishap at our base, we have the ore but not all of it was loaded.  If you give us the information, we can return before the next sun rise with the remaining amount.”

 “No! We want the ore now!”

Prowl noted the other two in his unit shifted into a position to roll out if need be, Prime always commanded to retreat in the face of local sentients since the Autobots were the intruders and all sentient life has the right to live its own life, and sent them reassurance that a hasty withdrawal was not needed. 

They could not leave, not without the information Titik claimed he had.  The skirmishes between the Autobots and Decepticons on this planet had been scarce but all had not been in their favor.  They were on the defensive and Prowl found himself striving for more data about their enemy in order to better plan attacks and defenses; he was not even fully aware of which Cons were currently planet side. 

What disturbed him the most was none of the few battles here were staged, they had all been accidental when one of the groups came across another.  The Decepticons were not aggravating the Masos, or mining for resources, or building a super weapon, which led Prowl to conclude that they had landed on this planet for a reason other than battle. 

It had to be related to the Allspark or Megatron - both had been missing for vorns. Small Autobot scouting units had been sent out to search for the Cube, but still a good portion of the ranks had boarded the _Ark_ and took off after the _Nemesis_.  The Autobots never took lead in this flight-and-land dance between the Cybertronian fractions, instead following the _Nemesis_ to prevent the destruction of other planets as well as try to defeat the Decepticons. 

However, the last three stops had seemed purposefully, not like the randomness prior, and Prowl suspected the enemy knew something that he did not.  He was desperate for data of any kind and Titik had come into some through his connections with other tribes.  While the Cons were taking great care to hide from Autobot scans and scouting units, they took no such care with the Masos.  It was a common practice of theirs actually, and many times had a planet’s native species been able to help the Autobot cause. 

So it was only natural that Prowl would accept a trade with Titik, all the information he had on the metal aliens (of which he was calculated at least fifty percent to be about his own fraction because he doubted the Masos could tell the difference) for manchie ore.  The Cybertronians got very little benefit from it, it was hard to refine even if it was easy to mine. The Masos used it in a variety of crafts, from making cooking utensils to jewelry.  Even if Titik’s tribe did not actually use the ore to make goods, it could be traded to other tribes.  It had only taken about an orn to mine the 100 units asked for, but the SIC had been in such a need of intel so he could plan instead of react that he would have said yes to twice that amount.  

 “What if we gave you collateral for the rest of the ore, an assurance that the rest is coming?”

::What do we have as collateral?:: Trailbreaker asked, shooting a sideways look at Hauler ::We didn’t bring anything besides the ore::

“What is this…collateral you speak of?” Titik asked, not yet sure if he liked the idea.

“Me.”

::Sir! I protest!:: Hauler sent, Trailbreaker mirroring the thought. 

::They know I am high enough in command that they can trust my word and that they will receive the extra 15 units of maniche ore.  It must have simply either not been loaded or maybe Perceptor took some to study.  Either way, I am certain it should not take very long to find the missing amount and bring it here.  As I told Titik, it could be here before the next sunrise::

::But Prowl - :: Trailbreaker began.

::I will make it an order if I have to.  The base can survive less than a day without me::

The other Bots cut their comms and Prowl turned his attention to the Maso leader.   He had stood up and retreated a couple of steps to be met by several other high status organics to discuss the tactician’s proposal. Considering they were all still low to the ground, at full height a Maso was knee height to Prowl, the SIC figured his chances were favorable. Titik dipped down, pelvis below his knees, in a nonverbal communication of acceptance before turning to once again address Prowl.

“We accept your offer. You will follow Likak.” One of the Masos behind Titik was pointed to. “And I will speak to your friends.”

“I accept,” he told the organic and then turned on his comm. Prowl had to command Trailbreaker and Hauler into silence before he was able to give his orders.

::Hauler, I want you to go see Ratchet as soon as you get back to get that crane fixed.  Trailbreaker, report to Prime and then I would appreciate it if you make sure those missing 15 units get loaded on to whoever comes out to deliver it::

::I’ll contact Blaster once we’re in range and let him know what happened:: Trailbreaker offered ::Hopefully some of the work will be done by the time we get back::

::See you two soon::  Prowl comm'd as he began to follow Likak into the nearby settlement.  

::We’ll make sure you’re back in the base this time tomorrow:: Hauler sent.

Prowl flashed his rear lights in a prim farewell.

~*~

Ratchet had never seen someone so anxious to get out of his med bay, including Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.  Hauler was actually verbally urging him to work faster and kept on shifting on the berth, servos on the edge ready to push off. 

“If you don’t stop moving I’m gonna weld your aft to the berth!” the medic huffed, grabbing Hauler’s crane with a servo to steady it. 

 “Sorry,” the other mech hunched over and did his best to sit still, but a tapping ped showed his eagerness to leave. 

“Why are you in such a hurry anyway?  You just got back, no way you have a shift.”

“I promised to get Prowl back as soon as possible.”

Ratchet paused in his work and then with a shake of his head continued to bang out a dent pinching a coolant line.  “Get him back from where?”

“The Masos.”

The CMO released Hauler entirely and stepped in front of the other mech in order to give an incredulous look. “And what is he doing there?”

“Well,” Hauler looked a little upset at having Ratchet stop his work, but since the medic gave no signs of starting again until his question was answered he continued on, “He arranged a trade with them for information on the Decepticons. But when we got to the meeting it ended up we were missing 15 units of maniche ore.”

Ratchet felt something heavy settle into the bottom of his lasar core as his patient continued talking. 

“We knew we had the ore somewhere here back on base, so Prowl offered himself as collateral cuz he’d only have to spend less than a day there.  Thing is, while Trailbreaker found a unit of the ore in Perceptor’s lab, we’re still missing fourteen.  I know we had more than enough for this trade, but no one seems to be able to find the rest of it.”

Ratchet spun and snarled, slamming his tools on an empty berth before taking off at a brisk walk towards the exit. 

“Ratchet?”  Hauler called after him, cowed by the display of aggression. “Am I fixed? Can I go?”

“No,” the CMO bit back just before exiting the med bay, leaving the other mech sitting on the berth feeling confused and useless; as much as he wanted to help Trailbreaker, Hauler had no plans to disobey an angry medic.

Ratchet snarled all the way to Prime’s office, but the closer he got the slower he moved and the snarls turned into an internal stream of curses aimed mostly at Prowl but also partly at himself.  After doing a quick systems check to calm down outside of the Autobot commander’s door, the medic pinged for access and was given the go ahead to enter. 

“Ratchet, what can I do for you?” Prime asked, setting down a data pad. 

The medic clenched his armor, closing in on himself.  “It’s about Prowl.”

“I’m sure the Masos won’t harm him, and it shouldn’t take that long to find the missing amount of maniche ore and deliver it.”

“That’s the thing, the ore isn’t here.”

Prime flickered his optics and then gave a slight frown. “What do you mean?” he sternly asked.

“Did Prowl tell you that I went and got the medical supplies I needed myself?” Was it just Ratchet, or was the air in the room slightly heavier? 

Prime’s frown deepened. “No, he hasn’t yet.”

“Well…I did.”

“Even though we had a shipment of them scheduled for next orn?” Disappointment shaded Prime’s words, the same type that shaded Prowl’s earlier.  Ratchet didn’t know that such a tone of voice could actually _hurt_ before today.

“Ah—shipment?” 

“Prowl had arranged for your supplies, since he knew you wanted them.”  Prime reached for the data pad, made some selections, and then slid it across the desk.

Stepping closer, Ratchet looked down and indeed saw that Prime was right, not that the Autobot leader would lie about this. “I didn’t know, I don’t look at the schedule,” he said in a soft tone.

“Ratchet, I know you’re new to being an officer, but you can’t just ignore the things I send to you.  And you certainly can’t go and do what you please!”

“I know,” he answered with a low, exasperated growl, “Prowl’s already chewed me out about that.”

Prime continued to gaze narrowly at the CMO and Ratchet began to squirm under that gaze.  “What’s this about the ore Ratchet?”

“I might have…traded a good deal of it for my medical supplies.”

Ratchet heard Prime’s vent shut as the news stunned him, rendering a sharp _click!_ , and then a very still silence. 

“How much ore?” Prime asked seriously, a cold front leading the words. 

The medic internally winced but then steeled himself to answer his leader. “With what was already delivered to the Masos…you won’t find any more ore in the _Ark_ aside from what Perceptor claimed.”

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, and as much as he wanted to turn his gaze to the floor Ratchet kept it on Prime’s face. 

“I suggest you leave now,” the taller mech sternly ordered and pushed the data pad toward Ratchet, “And take that with you.”

Ratchet took it and quickly left, not paying attention to his surroundings until he was in his quarters.   Slowly he slid down a metal wall, self-loathing radiating from his center outward until it filled every corner of the room. 

~*~ 

Prowl was surprised at the state of his lodgings. He had expected flimsy walls and a thatch roof, but instead found himself residing in an underground room the Masos had dug out. It was not very deep, just taller than a fully erect Maso so the tactician was forced to stay in his alt form.  The room seemed to be a safe residence for when sand storms swept the surface, if the spare bedrolls alluded to such.   As such the underground haven lacked windows. His chronometer had no problems telling him the current time, but Prowl had a fondness for alien landscapes.  They had their own type of natural order that gave them a beauty the planned urban architecture of Cybertron lacked. 

His HUD alerted him to a message from Blaster, not an open line since he was too far away from base, but one composed of text.  Normally such messages were succinct and closed, not requiring a response and thus commonly used to diverge sit-reps and orders.  But Blaster had included a question. 

_Not enough ore.  Energon level?_

While energon was not needed to be consumed daily, many of the Autobots had gotten in the habit.  Being in the middle of a war, one never knew when the next opportunity for energon consumption would be. There were any a number of potential scenarios such as a siege, capture by the Decepticon, or a shortage of the fuel that could prevent it. He had never predicted this type of scenario and Prowl had not topped off before leaving the base.  He had enough for ten of this planet’s solar cycles before adverse effects started creeping up on him, if he did not engage in anything more strenuous than staying in the underground chamber. 

He sent his response and prepared to wait. The time on his HUD showed that he really should get some recharge, as his hosts most probably were doing.  Come morning he could inform them of the slight change in plans, but Prowl was not overly concerned.  He knew there had been more than enough maniche ore for the exchange with the planet’s natives and so the deficit Blaster reported could not have been too large. It was highly unlikely the Autobot scientists used a great amount of the ore in their experiments. The tactician estimated another full solar cycle in the company of the Masos, but then he would be on his way to base and could finish his discussion with Ratchet. 

Come morning Likak was kind enough to ask if Prowl needed anything, but his species was unable to provide anything that the Cybertronian required. Prowl informed him of the delay in the delivery of the ore and the Maso reacted in the violent manner of his species.  Likak however did not seem to see Prowl as friendly as Titik for the organic rose to almost his full height and proceeded to circle the mech, delivering a kick every other step.  When he left, Likak was still standing tall as a declaration of unfriendliness toward the tactician.  The Masos were a brave, if stupid species.  If he were a Decepticon, Prowl would have killed Titik before the first kick could have been delivered.

Titik showed up shortly afterward, at a height signaling only partial friendliness.  The Masos’ violent nature also made them hot headed and prone to changing their opinions of others outside their tribes quickly.

“You said the ore would be here this morning.”

“Yes, and I am sorry for the delay greatest friend,” Prowl made himself as small as possible, clenching armor plates and sinking so that his undercarriage was on the ground.  Something told him the outcome of this situation would determine the future of their relationship with the Masos. It was a good thing the Autobots had already received the information Titik had.

Titik frowned and then smacked him with the spear he always seemed to carry. “Your friends will still make a trade for you?”

“I can assure you they will.”

The Maso looked over his form before dipping down between his knees in his species’s version of a nod, but it was a quick action.  It was obvious Titik was not pleased with the situation, but was reluctant to cut off transactions with the Autobots.  Maniche ore would elevate his tribe’s standing. There was also no reason to doubt Prowl’s words. “Okay. We can wait.”

Prowl watched Titik walk out, once again wishing for windows. Maybe they would let him spend time outside if he promised to behave.  His perceptions of the landscape would be a little skewed from in his alt form, but still appreciated. 

The tactician meant to make his request when Likak came in later that evening, but the Maso spoke before he was through the doorway. 

“Your metal friends are here.” The words were spoken in a clipped manner and Likak was standing fully upright.

Why had no one pinged?  And who was stupid enough to aggravate the Masos to the point where they showed no trace of friendliness? He taught his soldiers better than that.

Starscream, apparently, did not.

~*~

Even if Prime had not assigned him to work in the mine during his free time Ratchet would have signed himself up.  The medic was mech enough to admit it to himself, if not to any one else (except for perhaps Prime), that he felt extremely guilty for Prowl’s situation. 

He wasn’t sure who Prime told of his involvement in the maniche ore affair, but there was a good chance most of the higher officers knew.  They were all either snippy or cold toward him, and quite a few made sure to make sure he looked at the schedule and followed the command protocol.  If he didn’t feel so bad, he would have found Red Alert’s habit of going over things thrice to make sure he didn’t forget annoying.  But it was a well-deserved punishment that he allowed himself to receive, even if the base’s security expert unintentionally delivered it.  Not that Ratchet let that show; their interchanges typically ended with him yelling at Red that he wasn’t a sparking and didn’t need things repeated.

Ratchet kept looking over his shoulder the two solar cycles he worked digging, expecting to be summoned to Prime’s office and have his title of CMO taken away.  But it never came and he realized he’d have this post until he was deactivated. Out of all the medics on the Autobot duty roster none of them were as excelled in emergency or severe medical procedures as himself. First Aid had a ways to go yet and Swoop’s hands were so unsteady Ratchet only allowed him to work on detached limbs.  He wasn’t sure of the level of the other medics he was acquainted with, but it stood to reason that he was better since he was the one who had been promoted and not someone else. The chance that he would be replaced was slim, but still there, and Ratchet found himself half hoping it would actually happen. It was obvious he wasn’t cut out to be an officer.

They didn’t have the materials to build drones to do the work, so mechs hacked at the side of the pit and carried chunks of ore to containers that others transported up to add to the growing pile. When working to dig out the ore Ratchet put in all the effort he could to dig out large chunks as quickly as possible. Being the only higher officer in the mines, there was bound to be talk. The rumor mill was going on about Prowl and him being lovers; Ratchet’s impressive productivity was a sign of his anxiousness to get the tactician back as soon as possible. 

The rumors were brushed aside and unanswered (which seemed to strengthen them), but the truth was Ratchet just wanted to apologize.  For not looking at the schedule, for not telling anyone he took the ore, for not thinking there might have been a use for it, for getting Prowl into this mess, and for thinking Prowl did not have the good will of the Autobots at the forefront of his processor.  When Ratchet finally gotten a good look at the schedule and the supply list to be delivered after talking to Prime, he found that there were only a few solar cycles (and Prowl was right, the Con’s hadn’t attacked in the days in between) between when he had gotten his supplies and when the tactician had them scheduled to be delivered. The inventory for the supply delivery was also larger than what he had gathered himself, not that he was getting it because Prime had canceled the order. The previous CMO, Tightend, had rarely been without the parts he needed for repairs after a battle.  What made Ratchet think that he would find himself in such an adverse situation?  Nothing, but he had wanted to be sure.  One never knew what would happen.  Except for maybe Prowl, his battle computer was helpful in making predictions.

It took two days, but eventually the missing units of ore plus a few extras as an apology were mined and loaded into a crate to be taken to the Maso settlement.  Hauler was loaded and, together with Trailbreaker and Ratchet, set off for the Maso encampment.

He kept going over in his processor whether or not to tell Prowl the reason for the delay.  The SIC’s reaction worried him, so Prime could inform Prowl instead of him, leaving the medic free of a seriously ticked off tactician.  Hopefully.  But that made him seem like a coward and Ratchet had no desire for Prowl’s opinion of him to be lower than it already was.  And not saying anything really was only delaying the inevitable, but would the inevitable be a little gentler if buffered by time? 

The CMO teetered back and forth for most of the drive, ignoring Hauler and Trailbreaker’s chatter on the comm lines.   But in the end, the decision was made for him.

The Masos seemed to recognize Hauler and Trailbreaker, for a number of them went off together when they were spotted, presumably to get Prowl.

::Something happened:: Trailbreaker noted, sinking onto his treads and prompting the other two to do the same.

::What do you mean?:: Ratchet comm’d back.

::Last time we came were here, it was on friendly terms.  But look at them all, a lot of them are almost standing at their full height.  Something happened to put them on edge::

::Looks like there’s something going in the residence area too::  Hauler noted.  The living buildings were a decent distance away from where the three Cybertronians currently were, something akin to a business district, though still in visual range. ::It looks to be construction of some type::

::A new residence, or place to work with the ore?:: Trailbreaker suggested. 

Ratchet just sent a shrug over the comm, he didn’t care much for organics.  He rarely ventured out of the _Ark_ and thus had no reason to interact or learn about them. Then two Masos appeared, dragging one of Prowl’s doorwings, and the medic found his dislike for organics grow to loathing.  Red filled his vision.  Were they going to bring the tactician out in pieces?

Quickly he transformed into his bipedal mode.  Masos all around him stood up straighter and when the medic stormed towards the two holding the doorwing he was pelted with rocks and spears.  He ignored them all as he gingerly lifted Prowl’s part off the ground.  One of the Masos got a lucky shot with his spear and hit a coolant line in his finger, but repair nanities quickly sealed the leak.

::Ratchet!  What are you doing?!:: Trailbreaker asked, closing in on himself and making his way behind the crate that had been left his first visit.  Hauler followed.  ::You’re antagonizing them!  If we don’t appear friendly, they’re not going to tell us anything, let alone give us Prowl back!::

::They dismantled him! All contact with this vile species is ending right here! We’ll just have to get him back by force!:: Ratchet clutched the doorwing to his chassis with one arm and brought out his attack saw.

::Whoa!  Hold it Ratchet!:: Trailbreaker exclaimed.

::You know, I don’t think he’s here actually::  Hauler threw out cautiously, treating Ratchet as if he was one of Wheeljack’s more prone to explode inventions. ::We never got an answering ping::

Trailbreaker answered, but Ratchet wasn’t paying attention to the conversation.  Instead he examined the part in his hand, ignoring the rocks hitting his armor.  Really, how primitive could a species get? So primitive that Ratchet was having a hard time believing that they had the ability to take off Prowl’s door wing.  

If what Trailbreaker said about the Maso culture was true, that invisibility and smallness was a sign of good intentions, Ratchet was pretty sure Prowl would have stayed in his alt form.  And by the gears and hinge joint, which were usually _in_ the SIC’s back, the medic was pretty sure the door wing had been ripped off while Prowl was in his bipedal mode.  Which led to a disturbing thought taking root in his processor.

A sudden warmth on his legs made him look down.  There was a Maso on each on, latching onto gaps in his armor and crawling up.  He shifted his weight and shook each leg, but only managed to get one off.  Cursing in Cybertronian, Ratchet put away his saw, grabbed the organic and placed him none to gently on the ground. 

::So small equals friendly?:: the medic comm’d to the other two mechs, interrupting their frantic conversation.

::Yes! Now please transform:: Hauler sounded like a scared sparkling ::There’s no way they’ll tell us where Prowl is if you continue to threaten them::

Complying, Ratchet backed up until he was no longer surrounded by the three legged natives as to transform without having to worry about going through them to join Hauler and Trailbreaker on the other side of the crate.  He tossed Prowl’s doorwing in a sub space pocket, switched from peds to treads, and quickly backed up out of view.

::Cons:: the medic comm’d and he felt the mental answers of horror/grim acceptance from the other two.

::We figured:: Trailbreaker answered ::The Masos just can’t do that much damage to us.  It had to have been them::

::Don’t we have intel on their bases here?:: the CMO asked ::I thought you got that last time you were here::

The black mech seemed to wilt before answering. ::Yes, but we can’t just attack all of them trying to find him you know::

::Well, why not?::

::You don’t get out of the med bay very often, do you?:: Hauler accused.

Ratchet huffed.  ::I have no reason to::

::Just trust us on this::

The medic grumbled, but acquiesced.

It took rest of the solar cycle for the Masos to stop acting violently. Come sunset most of them retreated to the residential area, but there was still a vigilant guard on the other side of the crates they were hiding behind.  Now having two of the metal containers, they had stacked the newer one on top of the old one, prevented Hauler from re-injuring himself as well as blows from rocks over arching the first crate.  Ratchet had to give the organics a lot of credit for lasting so long, but being from Cybertron whose solar cycles were much, it was bound to be the Masos who tired first.

Trailbreaker had sent a text packet to Blaster informing him of the situation and received orders from Prime in return.  They were to wait as long as possible to get information concerning the SIC.  Bumblebee and Beachbreak were being sent to stay just inside live transmission range of their party in case back up was needed.

They had expected to wait another solar cycle before the Masos were calm enough to talk, but it wasn’t quite that long.  Come zenith, they received an invitation.

“Greatest friend Titik would like to speak with a metal friend.”

They shared a look between them.  ::You speak with him Trailbreaker::  Hauler sent ::I don’t think they would talk to Ratchet and you’re better at talking than I am::

The black mech sent a nod over the comm line and slowly made his way around the stacked crates.  Hauler and Ratchet followed, but where as Trailbreaker made his way to the Maso standing at half height they stayed close to their make-shift shelter.

Coming to a stop in front of Titik, Trailbreaker shifted his treads so he could sink into the sand underneath him to better show his desire to be friendly.  The Maso threw his spear; it got caught between two tread plates and at the sound of the shaft snapping in half Trailbreaker settled down as deeply as he could.

“His part, yes?” the organic shaped Prowl’s doorwing with his hands. “We were surprised when the other metal aliens left it.  Friend Prowl needs it, yes?”

“Yes,” Trailbreaker confirmed.  “Do you know where he is so we can return it to him?”

“Some of your metal friends came.  They had the ore, more than you said you would bring.  So we traded, friend Prowl for sixty units.”

Ratchet roared his engine.  Titik stood up taller, as did several Masos in the area watching the proceedings. 

::You’re not helping Ratchet!:: Trailbreaker sent.

::The fraggers sold him out!!::

::I know! But it already happened so we have to focus on getting him back instead::

“They attacked friend Prowl, did you not think this was odd?” Trailbreaker directed towards Titik.

The dusty red alien answered while still warily watching Ratchet,  “We attack each other.  And you all fight all the time.”

There was a breem of silence that followed, a sense of helplessness in the air coming from the Cybertronians. 

“Who came to collect friend Prowl?” Ratchet growled. 

Hauler and Trailbreaker both sent him a look, but Titik answered despite his misgivings towards the medic.

“I only caught one name, Barricade.  The other one was purple.  They came on the ground, and then friend Prowl and Barricade got in the purple one and it went up into the sky until too small to see.”  The Maso pointed upwards.

::Astrotrain:: Hauler ventured. ::I doubt Prowl’s planet side::

::FRAG!:: The force of Ratchet’s message had both of the other mechs jump, armor rattling.  The medic’s treads spun once, trying to find traction on the sand, before he took off towards the _Ark._  

::Ratchet sir!:: Hauler sent, moving out to follow the CMO. 

Trailbreaker wrapped up his conversation with the Maso leader before he too left the encampment to catch up with the other Autobots. They drove in silence back to base, aside from informing Bumblebee and Beachbreak what happened to the SIC when they joined the convoy.

Sooner than Ratchet wanted it to, the _Ark_ was in sensor range. He got a message that Prime wanted a personal presentation of his report, his spark sinking to the bottom of him laser core.  Prime had been upset with him before hand, but now he was bound to be furious.  The medic was not going to leave the med bay for orns.  Cowardly, yes, but he never was a warrior. 

There were lots of mechs waiting for them at the entrance of the base, all anxious to hear about Prowl.  Ratchet ignored the questions, leaving the other four mechs to fend them off.  Instead he headed towards Prime’s office, making a pit stop at the med bay.

He had a personal corner, a workstation where he kept patient files and medical articles. There was a table to the side, where he worked on parts that needed to be fixed.  Above it he had welded the data pad Prime gave him, set to always display the most updated schedule.  Ratchet brushed aside the leftovers of his last project, metal shavings and wire bits falling to the ground.  Delicately, he then brought out Prowl’s doorwing to lay gently in the cleared off space.

The guilt rose up in him, not only for forcing Prowl to be in the hands of the Masos, but also being the reason of his capture by the Decepticons.  They couldn’t even stage a rescue mission, having no idea where the SIC currently was!  A ship? Another planet? No one knew. The tactician was going to be left to the mercies of the Cons and everyone knew how tender those were.  Most likely, the name ‘Prowl’ would be added to that growing list of those MIA and memories of him would fade from the cache of most of his fellow soldiers. 

Usually Ratchet would have accepted such a fate as one bound to happen in war, but it was harder to swallow this time.  Because when it came done to it, he, Ratchet, Autobot CMO, dedicated to repairing his comrades, had killed one instead. The guilt eating at his spark finally burrowed all the way through, leaving a crippling hole. 

His knee joints gave out, forcing him to clank to the floor.  A low wailing escaped from his vocal capacitor and he quickly brought a servo up to trap the sound, but all he succeeded in doing was muffling it so that instead of echoing throughout the room it stayed in the corner and rang in his audio receptors. 

 

   

 

 


End file.
